Personal Narrative: My Hero's Journey

Zachari's grandmother showed the QP the court documents the probation officer left that reports he has 20 hours of community services, have no contact with the co-defendants, curfew set by the parent, and contact with his probation officer.

     I started to walk across the street to my friend Lacey’s house. Lacey lives just outside Detroit, but like my family, her family comes to the cape for the summer. Our families’ have been friends for about 10 years, but we normally don’t see or talk to each other during the year, only summertime seems to bring us together. Traditionally Lacey and I leave for the beach together,

There is nothing that compares to that last game. It makes no difference how exciting every other game is – that last one-it is like no other. Watching my daughter play the last few seconds of the North Half starter game was both exciting and bittersweet. Yes, there have been many games before leading up to this one, yet, this game seems so different. And, though this game starts the tournament and ends her basketball career, it still represents so much more.

I never realized how boring and long a car ride could seem when you’re anxious and excited for what’s to come. I never knew what waited down the path I chose, and how easily something can be lost. These events led me to the way I am today and whom I want to be in th future.

A mysterious yet beautiful unknown hidden world to human eyes which held the deepest, shimmering eternal blue, just like the finest sapphire jewels or the prettiest earth flowers, hidden deep beneath the dark crystal waters. I was born in these waters, and to the ocean is where I will return and die. I closed my eyes, as I turned my face to the wind. The warm, gentle breeze caressed my bare ivory skin, as I felt the warmth and feeling return to the edges of my fingertips.

It has been two years since you passed. It has been a year since I unearthed your vacant coffin with Oskar. Yet, it has been less than a second since you came to my mind. A day has yet to pass where I do not ponder of you, imagine you. I have seen pictures and heard stories of you, yet it always pains me that I could not have a place within them. I know nothing of you, my own child. In fact, I cannot call you, Thomas Schell, mine. There is nothing of me in you, and that will always be my deepest regret. If I had two lives, I would spend them both with you, as if that would somewhat compensate for the unjust life I forced upon you. A life without a father. Though, a boy need-not be raised by man, when a woman as sturdy as your mother is in place. I

In drama, story telling, myths, a religious ritual, psychological development and even in life there's a hero's journey. The hero's journey is basically multiple steps describing the adventure of “The hero”. A hero to me is someone who has courage, who did something amazing, someone you can look up to. Even though I am not a typical hero there are times when my life follows the hero's journey with archetypes such as the herald, loyal companion , threshold guardian.

It ripped through my chest like a beast trying to escape its cage. I finally felt it, God was in my heart. He had released all the displeasure, grief, and hopelessness I had felt for so many years and I knew from that moment, for the rest of my living and breathing life, I needed to show others who He was and what He could do. The feeling was indescribable and incomparable to anyone else, but I could see him moving through the other students’ lives around me that night. From the first gentle touch of his love, I vowed I would follow, respect, and live a life for Him always. Since then, my journey has been the most incredible and agonizing experience that I can describe. I have faced many difficult challenges and have hit the points of break

The unfortunate event began a completely new and terrifyingly dreadful life experience in which all my previous hard endeavors of securing the structurally sound habit of dedication, commitment, and studying I exercised extensively during my senior year, with the inner weapon of possessing powerful agency to absorb material with an extreme passion and letting my heart beat madly on long-distance runs whenever possible were indeed losing their color at a quickening pace. Suddenly I began to doubt my worth and the world’s lessons soon disappeared from my unawakened consciousness. The delicate networks of improvement and inner faith were becoming swept into a tide wayward, far out to sea where the light of my touch couldn’t embrace it.

The bittersweet defines me. These moments seem to chase me, to tear me down and build me back up. It was in Hyderabad, India. A city filled with the earnest cries of chaiwalas urging you to buy their steaming teas, the exuberance and chatter of countless people as you walked down the worn streets, the occasional herd of buffalos that seemed to give you judgmental side glances, but at that moment it felt empty. Thirty-two hours left—our flight was leaving back to Alabama.

As we stepped off the plane, there was an immediate rush of warm air when we took the stairs down to the tarmack. After the five hour plane ride in the cold, small plane, it felt nice to stretch out in the sun. We walked off of the tarmack onto the sidewalk that led to the parking garage and were immediately greeted by a kind man. He welcomed us to his country and directed us towards the correct direction. As we left him behind, he shouted “pura vida” to us. This was the first time I ever heard this phrase and I had no idea what it meant.

Driving over 1,700 miles is not the most enjoyable thing to do; especially when you’re moving. It’s not so rough when you have time to stop and sightsee. But when your truck and a moving truck are full of household and personal items sightseeing is out of the question. That means stopping and stretching legs comes when a truck needs to be filled up and windows washed. The nice thing about having a teen driver is they get to experience the “thrill” of driving across country on roads and highways that are not jam-packed with cars.

An hour later. David had to go to a football practice and Sarah is going to visit her sister.

I waved my mom goodbye and swung my backpack over my shoulders. Then, I let the car door swing shut and raced across the few feet of sidewalk in between me and the house. With the tent in my hand, I skipped up the steps to Anya’s house. Shortly after, I pressed the doorbell button and waited a few seconds for Anya and Lily to open the door. As I walked in, I said hello and hugged them both.

“Maybe later,” I dropped my stuff and walked back into the garage. I got my bike and rode it out of the garage. I was riding down our road, staring at a small tree when I turned for a car and…